


That Old Place of Mine

by dls



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Companion Geralt, M/M, Time Bard Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: Jaskier composes the melodies of his songs to the four-tone beat from the twin hearts in his chest.Or: Snippets featuring Jaskier the Time Bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 155
Kudos: 793





	1. Moodboard

**Author's Note:**

> References/Quotes:   
>  Title from "When Our Legs Grew Tall" by The Paper Kites.   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A moodboard to, er, set the mood.


	2. Huh, I've Got Some Pipes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been ~~overthinking~~ thinking about the fact that [Jaskier hasn’t aged in 20+ years](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/post/190347029140/lordasriell-the-witcher-timeline-someone-please). Clearly, the only explanation is that he’s a Time Lord: 
> 
> 1) He keeps up with Geralt, who’s on a horse, on foot. Two hearts, anyone?  
> 2) He always shows up when Geralt needs him and directly/indirectly leads him where the Witcher is meant to be.  
> 3) He dresses like he has access to a TARDIS wardrobe.  
> 4) He is surprisingly open and friendly toward the supernatural and/or the unknown.  
> 5) He has sustained little to none illness/injuries on his travels, with and without Geralt.
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  _The Witcher_.

“Arms! Legs! Hair, a bit floppy and still not ginger!” He wails, pauses, and clears his throat. “Huh, I’ve got some pipes.”

*

“How many of these lords want to kill you?” Geralt grunts. 

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” 

Women, as lovely and devastating as the forces of nature, influence history more often than their male counterparts and - through no fault of his own, for the record - Jaskier often finds himself in, er, compromising situations when he intervenes to right the course. 

Just two months and eleven days ago, he rescued a duchess from a clockwork droid attempting to extract her lungs. He lost his pants in the process but saved her life. Too bad the duke didn’t let him explain before charging at him with a sword. 

Rude, so rude.

*

“Geralt! Hello. What’s it been, months? Years? What is time, anyway?” Jaskier rambles to hide the fact that he knows precisely how long it has been since their paths last crossed. Down to the exactly second, actually. But a normal human isn’t supposed to be equipped with such precise sense of time. “I heard you were in town. Are you following me, you scamp? I mean, I’m flattered and everything, but you should really think about getting a hobby one of these days.“ 

Predictably, Geralt stomps away. 

It’s almost too easy to herd the Witcher to where Jaskier needs him to go. Which, at this particular point in time, is where the Djinn’s bottle rests at the bottom of the lake. 

*

“Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?” Geralt snarls, an unexpected emotional outburst that catches Jaskier off-guard. 

Stunned, he utters the first thing that pops into his head and the last thing he should have said. “Shoveling isn’t the word I’d use, maybe more of a gentle nudge or a subtle push.”

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of-” Geralt cuts his rant off as soon as Jaskier’s words register. “What did you say?” 

“Um, nothing? Just my usual nonsense-” 

Geralt rises to his full and very intimidating height. “Answer me!” 

“What was the question again?” Though his voice squeaks, Jaskier stands his ground. He did stare into the Untempered Schism, after all, and nothing is quite as terrifying as that.

The Witcher’s golden eyes narrow. “The truth, bard!”

Jaskier makes a choice, then and there. “Well, the first thing you should know is that though I have a lovely singing voice and a gift with words and enormous skills on the lute-” 

Geralt growls. 

“I’m not actually a bard.” Jaskier says hurriedly. “I’m a Time Lord.” 

A tense stretch of silence fills the space between them. 

“What the fuck is a Time Lord?” 

Jaskier is pleased to note that his friend - because they are friends, damn it, despite the Geralt’s denials and his own secrecy - hasn’t reached for his swords yet. “Why don’t I show you instead?” He extends a hand. 

Geralt takes it after a beat.

“I’ve met your lovely girl Roach, I think it’s time you met mine.”


	3. In Need of a Laugh and a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These updates will likely be short, comprised of canonical scenes rewritten with Jaskier as a Time ~~Lord~~ Bard and one canon-divergent one at the end. :)
> 
> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  _The Witcher_.

The wardrobe is a delight - it always is, was, and will be - and has rearranged itself to showcase a collection of doublets with matching trousers he doesn’t remember acquiring. 

His new fingers like the texture of the complicated embroidery as much as his new eyes adore the bright colors. 

“Oh yes.” He coos as he selects a sky blue set. “You’ll do nicely.”

*

A tingle shoots down Jaskier’s back the moment the Witcher walks into the tavern, a tug in his gut and a skipped beat in both of his hearts. Timelines blur and coalesce before his eyes, stars aligning to form the constellation that steers the course of history. 

His fingers shift and a new melody flows from them; one designed not to enchant but to annoy. He likes to switch up how he makes an entrance. The grand ones get old after a few centuries. It’s far more fun - and memorable - to go for the opposite.

“The pike with the spike that lurks in your drawers. Or the flying drake that will fill you with horror. Need Old Nan the Hag to stir up a potion, so that your lady might get an abortion-”

“Abort yourself!”

“Shut up!” 

“I’m so glad that I could bring you all together like this.” Jaskier grins, ducking the various things thrown in his direction and counting them as a way to measure his success. Instead of flowers, his audience has littered the floor with food items.

“Sit down and shut up!”

Jaskier turns his attention toward the Witcher at last, making his way with a defiant swagger in his step. Not even Rassilon can get him to _sit down and shut up_. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.” He starts, already thinking of ways to mention the bread in his pants because, well, why not?

Plus, the Witcher looks like he’s in need of a laugh and a friend. 

*

“A clear head would be best.” Jaskier removes the tankard.

Geralt lets him, griping. “I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I'm not killing anyone.” He adds. “Not over the petty squabbles of men.” 

A sentiment Jaskier is well-acquainted with. He despises violence and much prefers to talk his way out of the troubles he talks himself into. “Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do.” He says with an arch of his eyebrow; he quite likes the shape of them. “All the time.” 

*

Squinting isn’t doing Geralt’s classically handsome features any favors, Jaskier notes as he watches the Witcher pacing around the console room. Then again, he can’t think of anyone who’d look attractive with their face scrunched up and eyes partially closed. Well, outside of the more, er, carnal settings- 

He cuts off that train of thought quickly when Geralt pivots and heads outside. Then stomps inside. And back outside. Then back inside. 

_Oh._

Jaskier does his best to hide his amusement - he doubts Geralt would appreciate the reassurance that all companions react the same way when they realize the TARDIS is bigger on the inside - and fails when Geralt storms back in, amber eyes wide.

“Fuck.” 


	4. Tender Spots, Indeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  _The Witcher_.

The dials and levers feel different under his new hands. 

He watches the flex of his new fingers - close, extend, close, extend - with the same fascination he watched his previous set.

And the set before. 

And the one before that. 

*

“I mean, what is that? Is that onion?” Jaskier’s nose twitches. He’s fairly certain it is onion but best not dwell on it, Geralt may have tender spots underneath that scowl and all that leather. “It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak-” 

Geralt sighs. “It’s onion.” 

Hm, maybe no tender spots then. “Right, yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaviken.” Jaskier exclaims, arms spread wide and hands held high. 

“Come here.” Geralt stops, sudden, as if he were under a spell, as if he has just been named. 

Curious, Jaskier goes. Words have power, the right sound in the right rhythm can be a new kind of magic. The kind that lasts forever, though he’s not sure if being remembered as the Butcher of Blaviken is really something Geralt wants- 

The fist driving into his gut both answers that question and disproves his previous assessment that Geralt doesn’t have any tender spots. 

For all the strength his mutations grant him, Geralt’s punch is carefully aimed and pulled at the last second. Enough to wind without causing damage. 

Still, Jaskier exaggerates his stumble and gasps as though he only has one heart, hiding a smile when Geralt waits for him to recover. 

Tender spots, indeed. 

*

“...we’re merely rubbing salve on a tumor? not exactly addressing the root cause of the problem? Hm? I mean, maybe, just- just maybe, this whole sleeplessnessness-” Jaskier pauses, mouth moving around the new word and its many, many delicious sibilants. 

Geralt grunts. 

“-has got something to do with what the druid Mousesack said to you in Cintra? You know the Law of Surprise? Destiny? Being unable to escape the child that belongs to you, et cetera, et cetera?” He asks, half curious and half chiding. 

The former because knowing the _why_ is always more fun than knowing the _what_ , he can see the _what_ coming from days, months, and years away but the _why_ is always unpredictable. The latter because, well, Geralt is really just prolonging the inevitable; a valiant but futile effort. In half a decade, Geralt of Rivia will meet his Child Surprise.

“No! It’s not that.” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier swallows down the quip at the tip of his tongue, even if the Witcher doth protest too much. Oh, maybe he should pay William a visit after this Djinn debacle, see what’s shaking in Shakespeare’s town. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But what if you’re not?” 

Geralt glares but doesn’t argue. 

So, progress. 

*

“What is this magic?” Geralt has a white-knuckled grip around his medallion, which, Jaksier knows, is silent and still. 

Because this isn’t magic. 

It is science. 

But he doesn’t tell Geralt that, even though the science versus magic debate is his favorite and so much fun. 

“This, my friend, is the TARDIS.” 


	5. You Said It Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  _The Witcher_.

A perception filter is a necessity for traveling in this world full of monsters, magic and monster hunters. It wouldn't do for his twin heartbeats or the distinct scent of the Time Vortex to give him away before he can have his fill of fun. 

He slides a golden ring on and preens at how gorgeously it shines on his fine-boned fingers.

These are a musician's hands, he thinks, flexing them and feeling the tips of his fingers tingle in anticipation. It has been _ages_ since he's played a lute.

He dances down the corridor, already composing a song based on the echoes of his footsteps bouncing off of the walls.

*

Strumming a chord on his lute, Jaskier strolls besides Geralt, who's soothing his horse's impatience with a pat to her neck. 

Jaskier empathizes with her, the day is too gorgeous to not to break into a gallop, but he pushes down the desire to chase the wind. He's supposed to be a weak and fragile creature, whose single heartbeat jumps at the first sign of excitement and exertion, barely keeping up with a Witcher. "Mind if I hop up? I'm not wearing the right footwear."

"Don't touch Roach!" Despite his gruff words, Geralt quietly accommodates him by slowing his stride.

A man of brusque manners and few words, the perfect contrast to Jaskier's, er, _attempts_ at politeness and flowery speeches. He likes to think that they're well-matched and can benefit from each other's company.

For as long as this journey lasts, anyway.

After all, Time Lords and Witcher aren't meant to be involved.

*

The moment Geralt claims the Law of Surprise, Jaskier feels the shifting timelines coalescing into a clear path. This is the road the White Wolf must traverse, one that will lead him to his destiny.

"Fuck!" Geralt swears, storming out of the palace before they could be forcibly removed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Jaskier runs after him. "How about another word? I fear you're wearing this one out by saying the fuck out of it." That's actually a hilarious turn of phrase, he should remember this for his next jig. 

"Shut up!" Geralt's snarl is startled off of his face when he whirls around and finds Jaskier merely a step behind. "How-"

Oh, right. He's supposed to be trailing behind. Oops. "Keep going, you oaf! Do you want the Lioness to literally rip you to shreds?" Jaskier sucks in a deep, albeit unneccesary, breath and sprints toward the stables. 

*

"What the fuck is a tardis?" Geralt growls and paces like a caged beast.

" _TARDIS_." Jaskier corrects. "You said it wrong."

"No, I didn't."

Look at that, it's Geralt's third most intimidating scowl. Too bad it's never had an effect on Jaskier. "It's not a tardis, it is a _TARDIS_." He enunciates carefully and sighs when his efforts are for naught.

"I-" 

"The word means more than its sound, Geralt, it deserves some weight behind it. The same way _a witcher_ is not the same as _The Witcher_."

Geralt falls silent and, miracle of miracles, seems to be considering Jaskier's words. "Fine." He grumbles after a beat, brows furrowed and lips pursed. "What the fuck is a TARDIS?"


	6. That's Not a No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and healthy, everyone! 
> 
> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  _The Witcher_.

The time rotor glows bright before his new eyes and the floors beneath his new feet vibrate as they hurl through the vortex.

To Posada and the White Wolf.

Funny how Time Lords are drawn to wolves.

*****

Jaskier feigns sleep as Yennefer mutters a healing spell to combat the Djinn's curse. 

_Infection_ , actually, but he doubts she'd appreciate him correcting her and he knows she's already harboring some suspicion about him. A human, far too dependent on oxygen, would have died from an attack like this on the muddy shores. 

Best to keep silent, then. 

Familiar footsteps approach and with them, a familiar voice. "This is a little tight." 

Yennefer hums, amused. "I believed I sized you up quite right." 

Jaskier desperately wants a peek but he can hear Geralt coming closer. 

"Do you doubt my capabilities?" She doesn't sound offended but that can change in an instant. Yennefer's moods are unpredictable as the chaos - energy, he mentally corrects - she harnesses. 

"No. Just your intentions." Geralt grunts then his tone turns softer, almost wistful. "I said some things to him. He's a..."

"A friend?" 

"I'd like it not the be the last thing he remembers." 

"He won't remember much if he's dead." She chuckles. "It's a joke. He will survive. And recover his vocal talents. Does that satisfy you?" 

"Not in the slightest. But don't reproach yourself for it, Yennefer." Geralt moves away, towards _her_. "I'm not easily satisfied."

Jaskier forcibly tunes out their conversation. This is the moment that the bonds between Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg are forged. He feels their timelines overlap and settle together, for better and for worse, till death do they part.

If his chest clenches tight, it's just his body working to expel the infection. 

*

"This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse!" Jaskier points at one of the Zerrikanian warriors with a shaking finger. Fear is a good disguise for the thrill running down his spine at the _golden dragon_ standing before him.

"Maybe she'll make a better travel companion, then." Geralt grouses, another attempt to armor his heart against forming attachments. Way too little and far too late.

By now, Jaskier knows how to read the rough grunts and contented hums, the fond jibes and empty threats, the careful stares and the gentle touches.

A bard can always recognize a love song.

*

Geralt is pacing around the console room and muttering under his breath, the same words - _time_ , _space_ , _dimension_ \- in different sequences as though he could make sense of them if he could just get them in the right order.

From his position on the steps, Jaskier feels his patience running out. Not that he's had much to begin with. "You know what, you are horrible with words." He jumps to his feet, inspired. "Why don't I show you instead?"

"What?"

"Come with me. I can show you horror and beauty like none you've seen before!" 

"Are you mad?" Geralt snarls. "I can't just leave!"

"That's not a _no_." Jaskier straightens up, hope bubbling forth in his chest like the incredulous laugh in his throat.


	7. A Worthy Travel Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  _The Witcher_.

At the tavern, there's a barmaid with a voice high and gentle like a birdsong. "What'll be today?"

"Do me a favor, sweetheart, and tell me what do you see?" He holds up the psychic paper and makes a note of his new tendency for terms of endearments.

"A buttercup." She says.

"Perfect." _Jaskier_ smiles. "Now, do you have need for entertainment?"

*

"Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with." Jaskier keeps his tone light and teasing, an imploration well-hidden. The more he gets to know the White Wolf, the more his hearts ache for the man who believes he's no better than the monsters he both slays and saves.

Geralt grunts the lie that he's repeated so often that it has become the truth. "I want nothing."

Jaskier drops into a crouch gracefully. This body is made to sing and dance. "Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you."

"I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me." Geralt is nothing but stubborn.

In a few hours, the fates of the White Wolf and the Lion Cub will be irrevocably tied together. The knowledge that Geralt will be granted the thing he wants least but needs most weighs heavily on Jaskier's shoulders. "And yet, here we are."

*

"Life is too short. Do what pleases you while you can." Jaskier says softly, keeping the bitter taste of history out of his words, everywhere he has been and everything he has seen and everyone he has lost. All too fleeting. 

"Composing your next song?" Geralt's made ignoring both of their feelings an art form. _You can spend the rest of your life with me but I cannot do the same with you,_ he mumbled once, more into his tankard than to Jaskier. 

Oh, if only he knew that he isn't the only one tormented by the heartbreak of differing lifespans.

Loss is inevitable. Grief is certain. 

For a human life is merely a fraction of a Witcher's. 

But a Witcher only lives once while a Time Lord can cheat death.

Of the two of them, Jaskier is the one who will be picking up the pieces in the aftermath of what is inevitable and certain. "No, I'm just, uh, just trying to work out what pleases me." 

A lie. He already know what pleases him, what would please both of them. But to speak one truth requires the confession of another.

Perhaps it's time.

*

"I've got a Child Surprise waiting in Cintra." Geralt's protest is token at best, it's obvious in the fatigue dimming his eyes and the tension lining his frame. What he needs is a respite from Fate, a detour from Destiny.

"I'll bring you to her when you are ready and she will never know of any delay."

"...how?"

"Dear Witcher, didn't I mention the TARDIS also travels in time?"

Amber eyes, wide with shocked realization and - even now - unwavering trust, meet electric blue. "You mean to say..."

"Yes." Jaskier extends a hand, with his hearts on the sleeve. "We both know it's impossible to outrun Destiny but we can take the long way around. Let me prove myself a worthy travel companion?" The same request with the same sincerity, hoping for a different outcome.

"No." But there's a smile curving at the corner of Geralt's mouth, it grows into a grin when he takes Jaskier's hand. "I believe it is I who'll need to prove myself worthy."

*

There are stories scattered across the lands and songs carried on the winds. A Witcher and a Time Lord, playing a game of hide-and-seek with Destiny among the stars. 

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com/](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
